Nonbelievers to the Left
by luvscharlie
Summary: Celebrating the Christmas Holidays at Camp Half-blood don't exactly go the way Percy thought they might. Percy/Annabeth


_Non-believers to the Left _by Luvscharlie

_Warnings: This takes place the holidays after the events of The Last Olympian and disregards The Lost Hero, as I was in the middle of reading it when I wrote this. There's probably some language in here (I don't remember, I wrote it a couple of months ago) and some smooching, but little else._

_A/N: Originally written for the 2010 Christmas Exchange at the pjo_xchange on Live Journal where I wrote for oneoffour111, who asked for Percy/Annabeth, Paul/Sally, fluffy stuff no higher than a teen rating and bless her, she asked for "bonus points for including anything Mr. D somehow", then prompted me with "comic relief"—It was a dream assignment for someone who loves writing humor. Thank you aigooism for the beta work._

* * *

You know, after all I'd been through, quests, seas filled with monsters, curses and mazes, and oh, don't forget that prophecy where I had the potential for destroying Olympus and taking down the gods—what can I say, my teenage years were busy ones—you'd think that the ability for the gods to surprise me had, well, pretty much come to a close.

And yet…

It was my first Christmas holidays spent at Camp Half-blood, with Mom and Paul off on a bit of a romantic getaway (don't even get me started—I like Paul, he's a great guy, but there are things I do _not_ need to think about when it concerns my mother), and at least Annabeth was here with me. I entered the Big House to find Mr. D stringing colored Christmas lights all throughout a bunch of grapevines, which were growing in abundance throughout the house.

"First of all, does Chiron know about this? I don't think he's going to fancy getting his hooves caught in grape vines when he comes galloping through. Also…what the heck are you doing?" I asked.

"Chiron is hardly a god, so I don't think his permission is needed for me to make some re-modeling decisions. And I'm carving a pumpkin, of course."

"Huh?"

"Ask a stupid question, get a stupid answer," Mr. D replied, while continuing to string his lights as he hummed a tune that sounded remarkably like Jingle Bells. I smacked my ear and listened again. Nope, it didn't stop. That was definitely Jingle Bells.

"Are those Christmas lights?" I asked.

"No, these are Columbus Day lights, and once again ask a—"

"Yeah, yeah. I heard you the first time. Stupid question, stupid answer. I get it." I scratched my chin and tried again. "What I don't get is why _you're_ putting them up."

Mr. D looked at the calendar which hung predominantly in the center of the wall and shook his head, mumbling, "Dumb ass kid."

This wasn't exactly going well, not that it had ever been particularly easy to converse with Mr. D. But I was persistent. You had to be with gods. I was just about to start again, when Annabeth came in and saved me… or so I thought.

"Why is he stringing Christmas lights?" I asked her.

"Duh, because it's Christmas."

"I swear if you say anything about stupid questions getting stupid answers, I'm catching the next Hippocampi and going to spend Christmas with Mom and Paul in the Bahamas."

"Really?" Annabeth's smile was devious, so I was on guard. "I saw this nightgown your mom bought for her trip and—"

Annabeth probably said more, but I had my ears covered and I was singing 'fa-la-la, I can't hear you', at the top of my voice until I saw her lips stop moving.

"Why does everyone look at me like I have four heads for being surprised that gods celebrate Christmas? I mean, is it really that far fetched that I would think you lot don't actively celebrate Christian holidays?"

"Pish," said Mr. D. "_This_ has nothing to do with Christian holidays."

"Of course not. How silly of me to even think such a thing, what with 'Christ' right there in the title and all." Dealing with gods was an exhausting and thankless task, but I trudged on. I was relentless that way. "So what exactly is this about?" I asked. "You all suddenly believe in God?"

"Are you deaf? No, we do not. We're the gods around this place. The only gods! Remember? I swear that boy is dense." Mr. D said that last bit as though I wasn't standing there to hear myself be insulted. "But," he continued on, "we do believe in Santa."

And I probably shouldn't have done it, because gods don't, as a general rule, like being laughed at or mocked, but that was so absurd a statement that the giggles burst forth before I could stop them. "Come on, be serious," I said when I finally got my laughter under control… mostly.

"I am being quite serious (and that look on Mr. D's face made me think he really wasn't joking). Santa is real." He snarled in my general direction then tipped back his Diet Coke and took a sip before going back to threading his lights through the intricate weaving of grapevines upon the wall.

I should have let that snarl be my warning to quit while I was ahead, but I just couldn't let this Santa thing go. Might should have held back on the sass though.

"Mr. D, I know this is going to come as a great shock, but maybe you and I need to have a little talk, you know, like should have happened, centuries and centuries ago, when you were, oh, I don't know, seven. This is a secret," I whispered conspiratorially, "you know to three year olds, so don't tell the little ones, but there is no Santa Claus."

I was paid back for my insolence when vines wrapped around my legs and knocked me on my ass. And I landed hard, too.

"Heroes," he spat as though the word were dirty. "They go about saving the world, and they think they know everything."

I clearly did not learn much from my mistakes, because I continued giving him lip. (I think my mom might be on to something when she says I don't know what's good for me sometimes.) "Santa Claus is a complete myth," I insisted.

"What? Like Greek gods?" he asked, snorting as he tested a red light bulb to make sure it blinked properly.

Okay, he had a point, which was hard for me to argue with. But never let it be said that I give up easily. "If Santa's real, why did my mom tell me that she put presents for me under the tree when I was little and pretended they were from Santa so I'd get something Christmas morning?"

"Probably because the poor dear was too devastated to have a son that never made the nice list. Parents are such coddlers."

I hated him sometimes. Like talking to a wall.

"You realize you are wasting your breath," Annabeth whispered beside me.

I did realize it, but I didn't quit. "Fine, I'll prove to you there's no Santa Claus by sitting up and waiting for him the entire night. Then, you'll see."

* * *

This was _not_ what I meant when I said I'd sit up and wait for Santa. I had thoroughly intended to do it from inside the Big House, you know, around a warm fire, maybe even with eggnog in my hand, perhaps with Annabeth even cuddling beside me.

Not out on the roof in the snow freezing my tail off.

My teeth were chattering as I burrowed deeper into my coat and tried not to lose my precarious perch on the roof when Annabeth's head appeared over the roof's edge, as she stepped off the ladder and nearly scared me to death.

"You could warn a person, you know? I nearly slid off the roof and died!"

"Dramatic much? Besides, you wouldn't be on the roof if you'd learn when to hush. When has arguing with a god ever really accomplished anything… you know, besides landing your ass in the freezing cold on reindeer watch?"

I pouted. She had a point, but pouting seemed appropriate when I couldn't feel the end of my nose. "He didn't have to put me on the roof!"

"You were the one who just had to go and tell him that you'd never gotten a visit from Santa. He was worried you had bad karma, and you'd screw up his getting a gift. Seems if Santa brings him wine, he's actually allowed to drink it. Who knew? I guess Zeus doesn't want to risk getting on Santa's naughty list either, so at Christmas time he makes concessions."

"Zeus is afraid of Santa! What's he afraid of not getting? A toy train? A new dolly—"

Lightning flashed overhead, and I thought it best to take Annabeth's advice and zip my lip. Besides, the Christmas lights that adorned the roof made Annabeth's face light up in a kaleidoscope of colors as she found a seat beside me, yelping slightly when her butt touched the snow.

"No, I'm pretty sure that Santa's bringing Zeus a remote control airplane. Life size. And if he's been especially good, there will be screaming mortals aboard—or at least life-like sound effects."

"For a child of Athena, those may well be the most ridiculous words you've ever spoken aloud, you know?"

"I would have to agree. It's probably the sub-zero temperatures getting to my brain and making it freeze up. You should probably kiss me before I say something even more embarrassing."

Her nose brushed mine with a slight nudge as she leaned in to my kiss, and her mittened-hands covered my own half-frozen ones, soft lips and warm tongue with just a hint of eggnog on her breath. She pulled away just as I was going in for another round of kisses. What can I say? Even secondhand eggnog was better than none at all.

"Did you hear that?"

"What?" I said trying to turn her chin back my way for another smooch.

She shrugged away from me, and her eyes grew wide. "Oh, Percy, you are not going to believe this! It's him. But look, there are only eight reindeer. I knew that Rudolph thing was total hype."

"Shit," I said, thinking of the eager Mr. D inside. "There's going to be no living with him now."

* * *

I was only allowed back in the Big House after Santa was gone, and I swear I think they would have left me out on that roof the entire night if it weren't for the overwhelming desire to mock the non-believer.

Live and learn, I guess.

And for the record, I still didn't get a gift. Save the world from certain destruction, keep Olympus nice and tidy in New York City, bring about world peace—too far with that one, huh? Can't blame a guy for trying though—and you still make the naughty list—go figure.


End file.
